The Child Hyde
by The obsessed thing
Summary: Misunderstood, Hyde didn't have the brightest childhood. -Short story. Might add more to it one day. Contains uhh... Violent scenes and explicit language.


An obnoxiously loud woman's voice shrieked from nearby, one with a tone of rage and impatience. "You get your fucking arse inside before I belt you, lad!" It called out. Begrudgingly, the young boy obliged. The boy kicked off his boots at the front doormat, he stood there for a brief moment, fidgeting with the top button on his polo shirt.  
"Your dad'll be home soon. Get yourself cleaned up before tea before he batters you." The woman's voice echoed calmly in the front hall, much more relieving than her previous shrill shrieking. The kid's feet padded across the hallway and up the stairs, holding a grumpy posture about him. He didn't really have friends, and if anything, the school kids were acquaintences to him. The British colony that had settled on Mercury were defined as the dregs of society in his eyes, he was coming into his mid teen years- 14 or so now. He really couldn't be bothered with a real clean, instead opting for the more... Quick way of cleaning. Turning on the tap, the boy ran his hands under the warm water, splashing his face and rubbing away the dirt and dust. He leant forward into the mirror, flashing one side of his face closer than the other, rubbing his lower eyelid. A faint, yellow bruise and an almost healed cut sat there, he sighed to himself, leaning back with a yawn.  
And then the yelling, again. He closed his eyes, images of last week flickering behind those eyelids. A frown crept on his brow, a snarl on his mouth. He shook his head, fixed his collar, and dragged himself downstairs into the dining room.  
"Si' down, lad." Growled a deep, male voice.  
"I am doing dad." The boy replied.  
"Don't you bloody backchat me!"  
The room went silent, cold. There was little noise apart from the sound of cutlery clattering against porcelain plates. Minutes passed, the air was far more unsettling than any other day.  
"I see you'd brought a friend over wi'out my permission, Eugene." The tower of a man grunted. The boy almost choked on his mouthful of "food" in reaction to his father's comment. He cleared his throat, eyes widened now and fixated. "A' yes. Took care of him I did. Sent him, eheh. Sent him on his way." He continued, kicking his boots up onto the dining table, not a single shit given for the two who hadn't finished their food, lighting a cigar to top that all off.  
Eugene snarled at his father. "What did you do..." He grumbled, a lump forming in his throat, it was difficult to swallow, tricky to breathe as he dragged air through his teeth.  
"Oh you know damn fucking well what I did lad, I put the fucking thing SIX FEET UNDER."  
That was breaking point, the kid slammed his fists against the table, bellowing out.  
"You're a FUCKIN' ARSEHOLE!" He screamed, to which his father instantly reacted, blowing up and smashing the table aside. The mother stammered and stumbled back, backing way out of the way. Instantly regretting blowing a gasket, Eugene scrambled out of the dining room, dashing up the stairs and into the bathroom, locking the door. His father charged after him, stomping up the stairs. He frantically pushed down on the door handle repeatedly, before shoulder barging the door several times over.  
"EUGENE FUCKING WALTERS, OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR, NOW!" He bellowed. There was no response. The boy was frantically fiddling with the locks and safetys on the bathroom window.  
Crash. Bang. Thud. Over and over, time seemed to slow down as the door gave way. The window was open, Eugene gave an attempt to climb out onto the roofing below the bathroom, but to no avail, he was too late for that. The one leg still inside the house was the undoing, his monster of a father grabbed around his ankle and forcefully dragged him back inside.  
His forehead hit the window ledge, upper body slamming against the floor. His father flipped him like a pancake and pinned him down, straddling him. One hand holding a tight grip around the boy's wrist, an audible crack followed by a cry from the boy could be heard. The other hand around his neck, lifting and slamming his head against the cold tile floor. Eugene's free hand clawed erratically at his father's around his neck, all before having multiple blackouts. Tears rolled uncontrollably from his eyes, his mouth agape as he tried desperately to breathe. The floor under his head was crimson. His mother with a phone in hand, running up the stairs at the scene.  
"Yes, Operator... Making a call.. Medical attention ASAP.." The kid passed in and out of consciousness, the only sound he could hear was white noise, and the coming and going of his mother's voice.

And then it went all went black.


End file.
